A Day at the Fair
by JennK528
Summary: It's that time of year again. Food-on-a-stick. Midway rides. Farm animals. Join the boys on their day off.


A/N: This is the first story I've finished since February. Yikes. The muse, she is a very shy and elusive wench…

Big thanks to the following: K Hanna Korossy, stealthyone, and Swanseajill, for beta duties, generous feedback, and all-around prodding and pep talks.

And so, in honor of that annual late-summer Minnesota get-together, I offer the following bit of fluff.

xxxxx

"A Day at the Fair"

Sam woke, sluggish and irritable. Sluggish, because it felt like he'd just fallen into bed only moments ago, and irritable because –

"Dean!" he yelled, or tried to. His voice was a hoarse croak. Kicking futilely and with very bad aim at the hand that kept swatting his leg, Sam squirmed away. "Cut it out, man," he grumbled, with a final kick, burrowing deeper into the blankets and under a pillow to escape. "Go 'way."

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," Dean cajoled in a hideously cheerful tone. "Do you know what time it is?"

Sam bounced along with the bed when Dean thumped down beside him, and the insistently annoying hand now thwacked his shoulder.

"Too early," he mumbled. He didn't care if it was noon; after the last couple of nights they'd had, _any _time was still too early.

"Wrong answer!" The bed rattled again as Dean bounded upwards. "The time happens to be late August. You know what _that_ means, Sam?"

"Uhhh…"

"State fair time, that's what!"

The pillow was mercilessly jerked away, allowing full daylight to fall on Sam's squinting eyes. He looked up, blinking, and saw his brother standing over him. Dean's eyes gleamed and his wide smile was one of maniacal, anticipatory glee.

Sam groaned and rolled over. Doomed. He was doomed. There would be no way out of this.

"Saddle up, Sammy – we're headin' for Minnesota!"

xxxxx

They rolled into St. Paul around sunset, and found a budget motel on University Avenue only minutes from the fairgrounds. Sam had slept a good part of the day in the car, and now all he wanted was a long, hot shower to get the cricks and stiffness out of his variously aching joints.

When he emerged from the bathroom, dressed for bed, he was surprised to find Dean hunched over the laptop, serious and intent, rather than flipping mindlessly through channels on the TV. Pushing fingers through his damp hair as he sank down on his bed, Sam was almost afraid to ask. Probably just porn, he thought with a mental sigh. But Dean was…taking notes?

"Uh," he said cautiously, "whatcha doin'?"

"Research," Dean said, terse, not looking up.

"Yeah?" Sam prodded, still wary. If Dean was taking notes on the _Kama Sutra_, he didn't really want to know, did he?

"Yeah. Gotta have a plan, Sam." Dean finally glanced up after a moment of furious writing. "Can't go in blind and unprepared tomorrow. Got places to go, things to see. Need a schedule."

Sam sighed, out loud this time. "It's a _fair, _Dean," he said plaintively, "not storming the beaches on D-Day. Thought this was supposed to be _fun_. Can't we just go wander around for a couple of hours without synchronizing our watches?"

Tapping his pen against the table, Dean's eyebrows drew together in a frown. He sat back and pondered before apparently reaching a decision. "Okay," he agreed with obvious reluctance. "Wandering is all right. But –" He pointed at Sam. "There are _some_ things we need to do at certain times. We are _not_ missing the Pillsbury Pie Contest, whatever it is." Dean gave him a blinding grin. "Could mean free pie."

Oh. Couldn't miss that. Of course not. What was he thinking?

"Yeah," Sam said, resigned. "Whatever." He scowled and dug through his bag for the book he'd started, leaving Dean to his research and plotting.

xxxxx

Even for Sam, an early riser most days – nightmares aside – it felt obscenely predawn-like the next morning when Dean insisted on rousting him out of bed. He moaned into his pillow and prayed for rain. For a swamping deluge. For thunder and lightning of epic proportions so he could stay in their rather nice motel room and simply loll around and finish his book.

But, he figured glumly, that wouldn't stop Dean. Oh no. They'd still wind up slogging around the fairgrounds, in the mud and misery, and Dean would be grinning the whole time, telling Sam to lose the bitchface already and cheer the hell up. But if the day turned out to be perfect blue skies and sunshine, about a million people would be there. It would be crowded and hot and noisy.

Rain, sun – it didn't matter. He was still screwed.

"Rise an' shine, Sammy!"

Sam sighed and rolled over, glaring up at his brother. "What is _wrong_ with you? It's like –" He flapped a hand. "The crack of dawn. You're _never_ up at the crack of dawn." He reconsidered. "Or if you are, you're definitely not this…perky."

Dean just showed him his teeth and whipped the blankets off the bed before Sam could grab them.

"Oh, I get it," Sam went on, still glaring. "It's not really you. Shapeshifter. Possession. Pod person. _Something_." A Latin exorcism began to rattle off his tongue, just in case. "…_Dei et Dom_ – ouch!" He rubbed the back of his head, his glower darkening.

"No deep-fried Snickers bar on a stick for you, young man," Dean said, shaking his head. "Not with an attitude like that." He hauled Sam up by the arms. "C'mon. Get your ass out of there. We gotta get moving."

"De-ean." He knew full well it was a whine, and he didn't care. "It's too early." Sam flopped back down again and stared at the ceiling. "I want coffee first. Breakfast."

"They opened at six, dude, and it's already –" Dean twisted his wrist. "6:18. I'll buy you breakfast when we get there. We can have deep-fried alligator on a stick!"

Sam made a gagging noise. "No. _Real _breakfast."

"Sa-am," Dean parroted back Sam's earlier whine. "Up!" He grabbed Sam's ankles and pulled on him until his feet hit the floor.

Sam groaned and slowly stood, straightening to his full height to tower ominously over his brother. With a jab to Dean's chest, he said, "No deep-fried alligator on a stick, period. Not for breakfast. Not _ever_."

Dean just rolled his eyes at Sam's attempt at intimidation and shoved him into the bathroom. "Okay, then, you can have a Belgian waffle on a stick. Dipped in chocolate!"

"I am not eating _anything_ on a stick!" Sam hollered from behind the door. "And you can't make me!"

"We'll see about that!" came the shouted reply.

Sam didn't bother with an answer, knowing that Dean would get the last word in anyway. But if he did happen to mutter something under his breath, the sound of the shower drowned it out. It might not have drowned out Dean's yelling and banging on the door, but Sam determinedly took his time in the bathroom.

He came out wrapped in a towel and with no enthusiasm whatsoever fished around in his bag for a clean shirt. "I'm sure there'll still be some sort of dead reptile on a stick left by the time we get there," he said witheringly, in response to his impatiently pacing brother and the scowl that turned his way. "Or at least a corn dog or two."

"Yeah, yeah. Just quit screwin' around. We've got a timetable here."

It was Sam's turn to roll his eyes. "Right. Timetable. How could I forget."

He got dressed while Dean jingled the car keys, and when Sam couldn't think of anything else to do to procrastinate against the inevitable, Dean hustled him out the door and in the car.

"Aw, c'mon, Sam," Dean cajoled, pulling out of the parking lot. "Will you lighten up? This is gonna be _awesome_!"

Sam slumped in the seat and stared out the window. It was a perfect morning, clear sky and sunshine, with just a hint of a breeze. And they were off to the fair along with a gazillion other people and their screaming children. Oh joy.

xxxxx

They at least managed to snag a fairly close parking spot, sparing them a long hike to the entrance.

"My treat, Sammy," Dean said, grinning like a crazed five-year-old hopped up on too much sugar. They joined the ridiculously large throng of eager fairgoers already at the gates even at this early hour, and Dean dug out his wallet, forking over the entry fee.

"Thanks," Sam muttered. Eleven bucks apiece to spend the day wandering around in a huge, milling crowd, getting hot and dirty, and no doubt violently sick from too much junk food and the rides Dean would force him to go on. Just great.

Dean hadn't stopped moving since he'd tossed Sam out of bed. His eyes darted everywhere, his face bright as he tugged on Sam's arm, leading him farther into the fairgrounds.

Sam's dragging feet kicked up dust, and he breathed in the scents of animals, popcorn, and cotton candy, all of it triggering a sudden blur of childhood memories. A bright summer day with Pastor Jim at a small county fair near Blue Earth. Hazy, fleeting impressions of lights and Ferris wheels and loud music from other fairs over the years in a series of midwestern states. Moments from long ago. A lifetime ago.

"Jeez, Dean, will you calm down?" Sam jerked his arm away as Dean continued to haul him along. "How much coffee have you had, anyway? Speaking of which," he went on without waiting for an answer, "I need some myself. And you promised me breakfast. Now." He started to stalk off.

"Hey, Sam…"

Sam turned to stare at his brother. "What?"

Dean shrugged. "Maybe we should walk around first, you know? See where everyth –"

"What?" Sam asked again, interrupting. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and scowled, then rolled his eyes. "We have to do a reconnaissance or something, is that it? Get the lay of the land to figure out a plan of attack?"

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, his smile dimming a bit. "Yeah, kinda. Seems like a good idea."

"No. I want breakfast. You can plan your invasion of the midway later."

"Sure, okay." Dean smiled again, and if it wasn't quite as bright as before, Sam pretended not to notice. "Breakfast it is. I know just the place." Then Dean's face took on an expression that somehow managed to combine blissful adoration, awe, and outright lust all at the same time. "Over sixty kinds of food on a stick, Sam," he said dreamily as they started walking again. "That's all I'm gonna eat. Everything on a stick." Then a sign caught his roving attention, and he added, "Well, besides French fries. Or the deep-fried cheese curds… Or those giant turkey drumsticks…"

Sam sighed and resigned himself to a day of skyrocketing cholesterol and hardening arteries.

"Aw, c'mon, princess." Dean gave him a cheerful smack on the chest. "You can have fruit on a stick! Deep fried and dipped in chocolate."

"Oh, good," Sam glumly enthused. "I feel so much better."

Dean then proceeded to lead them unerringly across the fairgrounds, weaving his way through the crowds, eventually bringing them to a halt in front of a wooden building with brown siding and a false façade, like something out of an old Western. Dean's inner compass was apparently finely-tuned at the moment, but on the other hand, Sam wouldn't have been surprised if he simply remembered his way around from the last time they'd been here, which was probably a good ten or twelve years before. The booths and buildings looked vaguely familiar to him, but it all could've been anywhere in Nebraska or Iowa or Illinois, for all he knew, surrounded either by cows and cornfields, or city streets and concrete.

"Here we are!" Dean announced grandly.

Sam looked up at the sign. "The Epiphany Diner? Are you trying to tell me something?"

"Nah." Dean grinned. Again. "Just thought the menu looked good."

"So long as they serve breakfast. Sitting down," Sam added forcefully. "I am _not_ eating breakfast on a stick, Dean."

"Wimp," Dean said cheerfully. He pushed through the door and they settled down at a table by a window. A farm-fresh-looking girl came over with menus and coffee, and Dean at once proceeded to flirt outrageously, soon reducing her to blushes and giggles, yet another waitress in an already long line succumbing to the unstoppable and, for some reason, irresistible Dean Winchester charm.

Sam heard himself sigh again, but managed to smile at the girl when she finally noticed him and took his order.

Dean reluctantly broke his "stick-only" rule for breakfast, and they were both soon devouring mounds of eggs and hash browns and sausage.

With food and coffee taken care of, Sam felt slightly less inclined to strangle his brother. But when Dean started up with the bouncing again, he wearily figured it was only a matter of time before his homicidal urge returned.

"Ready to go?" Dean asked, already rising and dropping a generous tip on the table for their blushing waitress. "Got stuff to see, Sammy! Can't sit here all day."

_Calm down,_ he told himself, taking a deep mental breath. _You can do this. It's just one day. You can keep from killing him for a few hours, Sam, sure you can…_

"Yeah, sure." He gestured for Dean to lead the way. "After you. You're the one with the grand plan."

They walked and wandered, covering every corner of the grounds thanks to Dean and his desire to know where each building, barn, and food stall was located. Or at least pinpoint them all on the map he seemed to have in his head. The sun rose higher and, true to Sam's earlier sour prediction, the heat rose along with it, as did the density of the crowds.

Not long after mid-morning they both stripped down to single-layer t-shirts. Sam carried his long-sleeved shirt in one hand, but Dean's flapped at his hips from where he'd tied it around his waist.

As the morning wore on, Sam quickly discovered a perverse fascination for keeping track of everything Dean ate. By around one o'clock, it was already an impressively long list. The large breakfast had soon been followed by mini-donuts, of which Dean refused to share even one. Then came fried bacon with caramelized maple syrup. On a stick. Then came the alligator, unfortunately. Deep-fried. On a stick.

"Sam, look! Porcupine meatballs on a stick!"

Sam grimaced.

"Aw," Dean said, crestfallen, as he returned from the food stall, stick in hand. "It's not really porcupine. Just pork with rice sticking out of it to make it look…pokey. See?"

"You _wanted_ to eat porcupine?"

"Well, kinda…"

Deep-fried cheese. On a stick, of course.

Corn dogs. Two, actually.

Deep-fried potatoes. Pizza. Deep-fried salmon. All on a freakin' stick.

"You're eating nothing but deep-fried _crap_!"

"Yeah," Dean drawled reverently, his mouth full of deep-fried…whatever. "Isn't that _awesome_?"

Sam huffed in disgust. But he had to wonder.

"Where the hell are you putting it all? Or are you puking it up when I'm not looking?"

Dean belched. Quietly. And grinned. "Growing boy here, Sammy."

Sam took a bite of his pulled pork sandwich – no stick involved – and rolled his eyes. "You're gonna get so sick, and I'm just gonna laugh."

"Sick? Me? Not a chance."

"_I_ will be. Just from watching you."

Dean reached into a pocket and pulled something out that he then slapped into Sam's free hand. Sam stared down at a roll of Tums.

"Eat up, Sammy. You'll be fine."

Sam sighed.

xxxxx

To Dean's vast disappointment, the Pillsbury Pie Contest turned out to be nothing but recipes and judging. No pie eating involved.

"I'm sure you can find some pie to eat."

"Oh, yeah. I saw a sign back this way…"

Frozen key lime pie, dipped in chocolate. On a stick.

Sam refused to keep track anymore. The sun beat down, bright and fierce, and he could feel his bare arms burning. He was hot and sweaty and his head ached from the crowds and the noise. The mingled smells of all the food stalls had him on the edge of queasiness.

Maybe Dean finally noticed his pained squint, because he hauled Sam out of the dazzling sunlight into a big, cool, high-raftered building. Stuffed, it appeared, with shelf after shelf of jars of jam and preserves, and pickled just about everything, and vases of fresh flowers, and quilts, and –

"Look, Sammy!" Dean crowed. "It's the seed art exhibit!"

Dean dragged him to a stop in front of a wall display of art. Made from… Sam looked closer. Uh huh. It really was. Seeds. Of every kind imaginable.

Dean roamed the aisle, snickering quietly at each and every picture. "Dude, how do you suppose anybody even came up with this idea, anyway?" He halted in front of one portrait, snorting in derision. "Look. It's Kenny Rogers. Made out dried Indian corn and sunflower seeds. Jeez, talk about tacky…" With a sneer, he continued down the other side of the aisle, stopping again. "However, I do approve of the vintage Mustang one…"

"Uh, yeah," Sam said, slanting a glance at his brother. Possession? Or simple derangement? It had to be something. The past few days _had _been pretty rough, after all. Maybe Dean had finally cracked. Gone off the deep end. Wound up a few guppies short of a fish tank. A couple bullets short of a full clip…

"We should probably go check out the Dairy Princess butter sculptures next."

Sam huffed. "You have _got_ to be kidding me. You're making that up."

Dean gave him a look of wide-eyed, injured innocence. "What, you think just 'cause you're back to ridin' shotgun I don't know how to research a job?" He shook his head and sighed. "Your lack of faith astounds me, Sam. Look, some girl gets crowned Princess Kay of the Milky Way, and they carve her in butter. Really. I bet she's hot. In, you know, a dairy-fresh kinda way."

"Oh, God," Sam muttered, closing his eyes for a brief moment. Maybe he had fallen into some sort of warped parallel universe where Dean wasn't quite right. "Are you sure you don't wanna find a bar and knock back some beers?" he asked desperately. "Play a little pool? Hit on some girls?"

"Nah." Dean shook his head. "Not now. Butter sculptures."

"Right," Sam muttered again. "Sure. Why not." And slowly followed Dean out the door.

Numerous butter sculptures – Princess Kay herself and several runners-up – observed and – for Dean – deep-fried Oreos on a stick later, they rolled forward with the surging tide of humanity onto the midway, music blaring, and heat waves dancing on the pavement.

After a long, slow amble up and down the main drag to get their bearings, Dean shaded his eyes against the sun to peer up at one of the more gravity-defying rides. He turned a hopeful look at Sam, his face already a bright flush of pink, the splash of freckles across his nose and cheekbones a little darker.

"No." Sam shook his head, hair flying. "No, no, no. Absolutely not. I do not want to get my brain rattled or my stomach turned inside-out."

"Ferris wheel?" Dean coaxed. He rocked back and forth on his toes. "Roller coaster?"

Sam grimaced. Dean knew damn well he hated going on rides. "Maybe later." He held up a finger before Dean could say another word. "Maybe."

"Okay." Dean grinned. "C'mon. We'll go to the animal barns, and you can pet the baby cows."

"Calves."

"Whatever. You know you want to." He turned Sam around, and began pushing him forward. "We can go to the milking demonstration, and you can learn to milk a cow. After that we'll hit the Oink Booth – you can get a pair of pig ears to wear!"

Sam used his advantage of height and weight to lean back and halt Dean in his tracks. "Over my dead body, Dean," he intoned through gritted teeth.

"Oh, don't be so negative." Dean gave him a nudge in the ribs with an elbow to get him moving again. "You'll cheer up after you've petted some sheep."

"Dammit, Dean!" Sam's shout drew a few stares, but his outburst was just as quickly ignored, the crowd already flowing around and past them. He grabbed Dean by the arm and jerked him to an abrupt stop. "Enough already!"

"What the hell, Sam?" Dean pulled his arm free with a quick gesture, and looked up at him, eyes narrowed against the sunlight. "You've been pissed off all day," he said, his voice considerably lower than Sam's. "And I'm a little tired of it. What's goin' on with you, Sammy?"

"Are we done yet?" Sam snapped. "We've spent nearly the entire day here. I was ready to leave about five hours ago. And I really don't need to go pet the farm animals."

"Why are you so damn crabby? You used to love this stuff when you were a kid."

"Not a kid anymore, am I?" Sam shot back.

"Coulda fooled me, the way you've been whining." Dean's mouth tightened fractionally. "Thought this would be fun. Thought I could cheer your angsty ass up. Guess I was wrong."

The press of the jostling crowd went from mildly uncomfortable to nearly suffocating. Sam took a deep breath, and grabbed Dean's arm again, dragging him out of the worst of the throng. Dean muttered something, but didn't try to break free, and Sam didn't stop until he found them a fairly quiet spot to sit. A group of picnic tables under an awning was a small oasis in the heat, and only a few other weary fairgoers sprawled on the benches. Sam let go of his brother, settled in at an empty table, and Dean joined him after a moment, silent, with a tense set to his back.

"It's just…" Sam sighed, his anger sliding away. "It was a rough week, Dean. Between the downright vile and disgusting place we wound up squatting in – yeah, even for us – and those spirits in the crypt…" He shuddered even in the heat, remembering. "Those little kids…" Dean failed to hide his flinch, and Sam dropped his voice even lower, wearily rubbing the aching spot between his eyes. "It was an all-around crappy few days. I just…wanted some downtime, dude."

Dean stared down at the ground, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Thought this was. Takin' a day off, you know? Havin' some fun for a change. Can you honestly tell me that you've hated every single minute of this?"

Sam glanced up and happened to catch Dean's gaze. His brother at once looked away again, but Sam saw the brief flicker of disappointment in those expressive eyes nevertheless, and an abrupt stab of guilt went through him. He swallowed the biting reply that had already formed on his tongue.

"So…" Dean said slowly after a long few minutes. His voice was quiet. "Guess that means the grandstand show and the fireworks are out, huh? You wanna head back to the motel? Or I can drop you somewhere. Bookstore. Whatever." The words were a little too casual, and the bright, easy grin Dean had worn all day had disappeared. Instead, his face, what Sam could see of it, was carefully neutral. It didn't fool Sam for a second.

Sam winced, and he suddenly – desperately – wanted that grin back again.

The day hadn't been _that_ awful, had it? Really? Or had he just been too wrapped up in his own bad mood to notice? He leaned back and watched the crowds around them for a moment, like he'd idly done all day. People out having fun. Skipping work on a Friday to goof off at the fair. Families. Groups of friends. It was all so…normal.

Dean just wanted to have a good time. To show Sam some fun, to have that same kind of normal. To forget the past few days.

"Um," he began with great eloquence. And stopped.

Dean shot him a _well, I'm waiting_ stare.

"Um, well," Sam fumbled, trying again. "No. That's okay."

Dean's eyebrow went up.

"I mean," he said, trying out a tentative smile, "if we leave now, we'll miss the fireworks, right?"

Dean's other eyebrow joined the first one. "You want to stay?" he said slowly and carefully. Flatly disbelieving.

Sam shrugged. "Yeah. I guess. Besides," he added. "I need to kick your ass at one of those shooting gallery games."

A long, considering look.

Sam waited, and then Dean's mouth twitched.

"You're on."

Sam heaved a quiet, but very heartfelt, inner sigh of relief. "Okay," he said, smile growing wider, "but first, I guess it's the cow barn? Or the Oink Booth?"

Dean gave him an assessing stare and got to his feet. "Not yet. You stay put. I'll be right back."

"What? No," Sam protested as he stood up, ready to follow.

But Dean pointed a stern finger at him and said, "Sit."

Sam sat. And waited. Wondered what Dean was up to. Probably buying tickets for one of those horrible rides, with names like Zero Gravity and the Orbiter. And then he would force Sam onto them, cackling madly in his older brother revenge, and Sam would turn green and throw up absolutely everything he'd eaten in the past two weeks… He put his head in his hands and groaned. Just had to make sure he threw up on Dean, is all.

"Here ya go."

Sam raised his head and blinked.

"Drink this. All of it." Dean pushed an opened bottle of water into Sam's hand.

"Okay," Sam agreed resignedly. More stuff to throw up. Brilliant. But he drank it all in a few swift swallows, only then noticing how terribly thirsty he'd been.

"Take these." Two pills, shaken out of a small packet, were dropped into his other hand and a full bottle replaced the empty one. "Drink."

"Dean – "

"Take 'em, Sammy," Dean ordered, in that tone Sam had heard – and mostly obeyed – since he was about four.

"Yeah, yeah, all right." He swallowed the pills and drank half of the second bottle as easily as the first before handing it back to Dean, who finished it off, then pitched it neatly into a trash can without looking.

"Now wear this so the sun won't melt your brains anymore." Dean handed him a green baseball-style cap, emblazoned with a familiar logo.

Sam tugged it on over his sweat-dampened hair. "Thanks," he said, looking up from under the brim of his new John Deere cap with an embarrassed smile. "Didn't even think about sunstroke."

"That's because we spend way too many hours working in the dark. Besides, you were too busy being crabby," Dean said, putting on a cap of his own.

Sam took a deep breath and blew it out. "Sorry I've been acting like a jerk."

"Yeah, you're such a moody little thing sometimes," Dean said with an aggrieved sigh. "Don't know why I put up with you."

Sam kicked at Dean's foot and got a mock glare in return. "Dekalb Seed Corn?" Sam gestured at the cap Dean wore. "Now _that's_ classy," he teased.

Dean smirked back. "We'll give 'em to Bobby next time we see him. He could use a new hat or two."

Sam snickered, feeling better already.

"Sooo…" Dean drew the word out in a long breath. "We can leave if you want," he said, sitting down next to Sam. "It's okay. Like you said, we've been here for hours already, and if you're not feelin' great…"

Shaking his head, Sam said, "Nah. I'm all right. Besides, we haven't done everything yet."

"Does that mean you wanna go pet the baby animals, Sammy?" An innocent lift of eyebrows.

He kicked Dean's foot again. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do, jerk. Each and every one of them. Let's go."

xxxxx

If he didn't pet every animal at the fair, it wasn't from lack of trying. Mostly to drive Dean crazy, of course. But when he found his brother crouched down next to a pen with a little blonde girl in pigtails and a cowboy hat, seriously listening to a discourse on her prize-winning heifer, he had to stop and grin.

"Kinda young for you, dontcha think?" Sam asked, bumping into Dean's shoulder on the way out.

"She's cute, though," Dean said, a smile tugging at his mouth. "Give her ten years, and she'll be a real knockout."

"Yeah, she might out of high school by then," Sam said dryly.

At the Oink Booth, he absolutely refused to wear the pig ears Dean insisted on getting. "Dare ya," he said to Dean. "Double-dog dare ya to put those on."

Dean just grinned. "Wouldn't go with the hat."

"Wuss."

They wound up taking the Skyride that went over part of the fairgrounds, and then Sam somehow found himself reluctantly agreeing to go on both the Ferris wheel and the roller coaster as the far lesser of many greater evils.

"These are it, Dean, I mean it! I am not going on anything that spins us around upside down and backwards. We get enough of that on the job from spirits slamming us into walls."

"All right, all right." Dean leaned over the edge of the swaying basket of the Ferris wheel as far as the bar allowed. "Got some good views from up here." He poked Sam in the ribs with an elbow. "C'mon, look down. It won't kill you."

Sam took one quick peek, and then went back to staring straight up. "No, thanks."

"Wuss," Dean cheerfully tossed back at him.

"How can you be afraid to fly, but willing to go up in this contraption?"

"Planes _crash,_ Sammy."

"Your reasoning defies description." Sam swallowed hard. "Is this almost over?"

He considered it extremely fortunate to be back on steady ground once again.

By unspoken agreement, they skipped the Haunted Mansion.

"How about the 'World of Wonders Palace of Illusions'?" Dean asked, looking up at the sign.

"There'd better not be clowns," Sam said darkly.

"I doubt it, but if there are any big, bad clowns, I'll protect you."

They emerged from the exit forty-five minutes later.

"Lame," Dean scoffed. "And the mirror maze was a piece of cake."

"Absolutely," Sam agreed. "Glad there weren't clowns, though."

They split an utterly ginormous bucket of French fries, greasy and salty, nearly burning their mouths on the first few bites.

Dean moaned. "Been dreamin' about these for weeks," he said around a mouthful.

"I'm so happy for you," Sam said dryly, taking the bucket back and helping himself.

French fries quickly polished off, they started at one end of the midway and hit every game that involved taking down targets.

"I am so gonna kick your ass," Sam asserted, picking up a rifle to knock down a parade of ducks.

"Oh, I'm shakin' in my boots here, Sammy."

To Sam's surprise – and sneaking suspicion – they actually came out at a draw when all was said and done.

"You let me win that last one," he chided as they turned away from the booth. Sam awkwardly held his newest prize. They had each easily won an armload of various stuffed animals and toys, and had just as quickly given them away to kids as they walked on.

"Only because I wanted to make absolutely sure you took home that pink stuffed unicorn, Sammy." Dean gave him a guileless smile.

"Very funny."

"What, you don't like it, princess?"

"I love it, Dean. It's really, really pretty," he deadpanned. Sam gestured at the object Dean still had tucked under his arm. "Do you like what I picked out for you?"

Dean looked down at it, his mouth curling in a disgusted sneer. "This is about the ugliest damn thing I've ever seen. I swear it's giving me the stink-eye, and I don't like its nasty little smile, either. Maybe we should take it out somewhere to salt and burn it."

Sam snorted. "Not before we exorcise it."

"Good thing we're on vacation, isn't it?"

"Oh, yeah…"

They managed to dump both of their prizes on a pair of giggling thirteen-year-old girls. Dean turned a bright, friendly smile on them, and Sam just rolled his eyes when the girls walked away with lingering over-the-shoulder stares. And more giggling.

"There," Dean said, making a show of brushing off his hands. "Another evil vanquished."

The midway lights got brighter as the sun went down, and the day's heat slowly gave way to a cool evening. Sam was glad for his long-sleeved shirt as he pulled it on against the chill.

"Now what?" he asked.

"I'm thinkin' turkey drumsticks, and a deep-fried Twinkie. Then the grandstand show, no matter what it is."

"Brave words," Sam said, grinning. "What if it's a polka band?"

"I can take it."

xxxxx

Sam yawned, sunburned and sleepy, and he just knew he wouldn't make it to the end of the concert, much less the fireworks afterward.

"Hey, Dean," he mumbled, eyes heavy. "Can I go wait in the car? 'M tired."

"You fallin' asleep there, kiddo?" Dean's voice, right in his ear, sounded warmly amused.

"Yeah." Sam yawned again. "Kinda."

"Okay, let's go."

He heard Dean stand up, and a gentle tug on his arm got him to his feet. "No," Sam protested, turning his head to look at his brother. "You don't have to go, too. Just give me the keys."

Dean's steady hand on his back steered him down the row, edging past the crowd, and into an open aisle. "Nah, this band kinda sucks, anyway. And we can always catch the fireworks next year."

"Okay." Sam nodded in yawning agreement and continued to plod forward on autopilot, not really looking where he was going, simply trusting Dean. "Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I get a deep-fried Snickers bar on a stick before we leave?"

A small huff of laughter brushed past his ear, and the firm hand moved from his back to the nape of his neck, giving him a light squeeze. "Anything you want, Sammy. Anything at all."

_The End (of a very long day!)_


End file.
